


Nebraska

by sandymg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandymg/pseuds/sandymg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer tempts Sam. Dean’s life (and afterlife) hang in the balance. The iPod reappears. And it’s possibly the end of the world as we know it. Not necessarily in this order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nebraska

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set in Season 5. Assumes all canon through Changing Channels 5x08. References to Faith 1x12 and The Magnificent Seven 3x01  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.

**Part 1 – Memory Lane**

There was no pattern. No anniversary. No regular intervals. Not even a song that seemed to trigger it. Every once in a while, Dean pointed his baby in the direction of Nebraska, drove for whatever hours it took, stopped at the gravestone of Layla Rourke and stared silently at the neatly etched words _. Beloved daughter._

Sam followed soundlessly, fighting the shame of not being more ashamed at this young woman’s death. A step behind, he took in his brother’s rigid back and then looked at the grave himself. God help his tainted soul he was glad his brother was not under that soil. It could have ended just like that. In a meaningless Nebraska field. Their father god knows where, too self absorbed to give a damn.

No. It went the way it went because he was strong enough to work it out. To save his brother even when he didn’t want to be saved. At least that once, he’d done it right. So yes, this young woman was dead and maybe she wouldn’t be if things had gone differently. But then again Dean was standing right there in front of him. He hadn’t known what no Dean felt like back then. Only imagined it. He shuddered. Yes, he’d done it right that time.

Dean moved slightly, an indication that soon it would be time to go. He never looked at Sam during these outings. Hardly said anything. After the first such visit, Sam chose to wait in the Impala. Dean didn’t seem to mind. This time, first time in four years, he tagged behind silently. He couldn’t have said why. Curious, maybe, if anything would be different from that first visit. But nothing changed in this timeless town, the cemetery as still and dry and dark as ever. Perhaps a bit more parched than he’d remembered. Maybe there was a drought? End days and all that so it would be par for the course.

It had been raining the first night they’d ever come here. Horrible cold whipping pellets that stung like lashes against his skin. Annoyed at his brother’s sudden silent streak he’d whined, “What are we doing here Dean? Ghost, ghoul, what?”

Ignoring him, Dean swept his flashlight left, then right, in a slow methodical manner. Sam rubbed his forehead and the incessant itch that still burned there. It had been a month since they’d separated from their father in Chicago. The stitches were long dissolved. He wondered if it would be a permanent scar. They had spent the past few weeks playing dumb pranks to cover up different kinds of scars. Laughter in lieu of talking. A staple in the Winchester playbook. Then they’d hit Wisconsin and faced the Shtriga. There were no more pranks after that. Dean had retreated into that place that no one could follow. It still hurt to see Dean go there. Even after all that had passed, Dean’s closed face stabbed through all the Dean protections he’d erected over the years.

The rain had been so punishing that night he couldn’t imagine how Dean thought he’d find any particular gravestone. So he was surprised when his brother stopped short. He’d had to jolt to a quick halt himself to keep from smashing into Dean.

“Now will you …” And then he saw the name. _Oh god_. Of course, Layla had died. He hadn’t thought about it. Didn’t know how quick it would happen, but one didn’t recover from what she had unless … And that particular unless had been usurped by Dean. He’d waited for the guilt that surely should have come over him at seeing this particular grave. In the ghostly yellow light of their beams he made out Dean’s profile, so like their father’s that for an instant he forgot who it was. He looked at the date on the gravestone. She’d been dead a few months. So it had been very quick then.

“Dean … ” he’d started but didn’t know what to possibly say. Maybe it was enough just to be with his brother.

“Dad ever ask you what happened?” Dean broke the night’s overwhelming silence.

“Just wanted to know you were okay. I guess that was enough.” And oddly, this Sam did understand, share even, with their father. It was enough.

“’S wrong,” Dean said, light moving slightly as his hand shook.

“Yeah,” Sam answered because it was always wrong when a 25-year-old woman died.

Dean turned toward his younger brother and Sam couldn’t tell if it was only the rain tracking water down his cheeks or something else. His brother fidgeted, the light beam floating around. Clearly he had something on his mind. _Out with it, Dean_ , he thought. _Just talk to me. Why did it always have to be this hard?_

“Did you know, Sam? I … just tell me the truth. It’s better that I just know. Did you know, suspect, before … before we came to the faith healer, that it wasn’t what it seemed?”

Eyes widening despite the drops that made him blink frantically Sam hollered, “What?! No. You know this. Not until after … when you said you thought you saw … No. I only knew what Caleb said … that there were reports of a faith healer that had been getting results. How can you … why are you asking me this?”

Dean nodded once. Turned silently back to Layla’s gravestone, his light moving gently over it as if in a caress. “Would it have mattered?” he asked, without turning around. “Would you have taken me here anyway?”

Sam blanched. He couldn’t, didn’t, want to answer this. It would lead to a fight because the minute the question left Dean’s lips an undeniable _yes_ rang in his head. “Dean. Don’t make me answer that.”

“I think you just did, Sam.”

“You’re not being fair. What if … what if it had been me?”

As soon as he said it Sam knew how low a blow that was, but he couldn’t help himself. He tried to soften it. “I can’t be unhappy you’re alive.”

“She deserved it, too. Just as much.” Dean ran a hand over his face wiping the rain water away. “Maybe more,” he tacked on quietly.

No, Sam thought. He’d give his brother ‘just as much’ but not more. No way, more. In the end, they’d left as quietly as they’d come. Trudging back through the muddy graveyard to the dry welcoming warmth of the car they called home. They hadn’t fought. They hadn’t spoken another word. And for the dozen or so more times Dean felt compelled to make this trek, Sam had always waited in the car.

Until now.

Dean twitched again in the dry night air and Sam felt it was okay to say something. He wanted to ask if Dean still wished Sam hadn’t saved him. Probably more so now given all the events that followed. He wanted to be able to say that this time he agreed with him, that it would have spared his brother Hell and kept Lucifer where he belonged and a whole long sorry trail of what ifs and wouldn’t have happened. Except none of that would have been the truth.

Instead he said, “Been a while.”

His brother shrugged.

Sam guessed the answer to why Dean hadn’t visited Layla in a while was obvious given he’d been dead and all that. Dean surprised him by speaking again.

“Huh. Seems a bit dead around here, don’t it?”

Sam didn’t know what to make of this, they were, after all, in a cemetery. But he never had a chance to reply because the woman approaching them slowly out of the black, pulled all rational thoughts out of his head.

 _Layla_.

**Part 2 – Alone again, unnaturally**

No. Not a case. Not here. Not this woman. Sam took a step back and glanced fleetingly at Dean. The same tired dread mirrored back to him from his brother’s wary eyes.

“Zombie?” Dean asked.

“Probably. Someone did this. She wasn’t … didn’t seem the vengeful type. We have no … we need to get to the car.”

Layla stopped before them. She looked as real, as human, as the day she entered their motel room to say goodbye. A conversation Dean never spoke of again. Sam could even make out a faint scent in the dry breeze and it wasn’t stale, wasn’t dead. Her eyes glowed navy in the dim light. She smiled at them, that same soft understanding smile that she’d given them both four years ago.

“Dean,” she said on a soft breath. She blinked and looked down at herself. “I don’t … did it work, did he heal me?”

Oh god. She didn’t know. Who did this? Who the _fuck_ did this?

“Dean,” Sam said breaking her spell a second.

“I know.”

Layla turned a minute then peered into the darkness. Sam followed her stare.

“Mom?”

Mrs. Rourke approached out of the nothingness and at least one question was answered.

“It won’t work,” Dean barked at her. “That’s not Layla.”

“Dean. Sam,” the older woman said looking from one brother to the other. She held a small back book that Sam assumed was a bible. A smile split her face but never reached the black pits of her eyes. “It’s true then.”

“What is?” Sam asked.

“That Dean Winchester is back. Alive.”

Dean looked briefly at Sam. “What makes you think I was ever gone?”

Mrs. Rourke grinned. “It’s been four years. Plenty of time to learn a great many things.”

“Yeah, well, not everything one hears is true.”

“Yet here you stand, living and breathing, snatched from the veil yet again.”

Dean ignored all this and pointed to Layla. “It won’t work. It’s not her.”

Anger flashed in Layla’s mother’s eyes before returning to their quieter malevolent state. “Selfish down to the very core still, I see. I’m glad, you know. If there had been some remorse … Some acknowledgment of shame … It might have made it a little harder.”

Warning bells sounded but before either brother could do anything she’d grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled out a hidden penknife. She slit a thin stripe across his palm. “What the—”

“Dean!”

Sam moved to throw the woman off his brother but not before she’d simultaneously spoken some ancient words, sprinkled an ochre dust and spit into the blood stripe on Dean’s hand. The cut healed up instantly.

Caught in Sam’s huge grip Mrs. Rourke made herself go slack, leaning passively against him. “What did you do?” Sam menaced.

Layla touched her hand to her chest and squinted in puzzlement. “Mom?” she said again softly. She shook her head and her hair moved around her in golden waves. “What’s … Why are we here?”

“It’s okay Layla,” her mother said from within Sam’s tight grip. “It’s all over now. It’s all going to be all right. As it should be. As it always should have been.”

Dean staggered losing his step. “Sam …”

Sam looked at his brother, worry coursing through him. He recognized Mrs. Rourke’s words. Hoodoo. Some blend of Christianity and something much older. Ancient and black. Turning back to Layla he took in her color, her ever increasing vigor, her _life_.

“Undo it,” he ordered. “Now. Whatever you just did, reverse it or--”

“Or what?” she cackled. “You’ll kill me? Go ahead, it won’t change anything and Layla will still live. Do you think I wouldn’t sacrifice my life for hers? Just as you did your precious brother’s?”

Sam tossed her off him like the garbage she was. He moved quickly and held Layla taunt. “No. I’m not going to kill _you_.”

The mother looked remarkably unconcerned. Fear gripped Sam. “She dies. So does Dean.”

Dean reeled again calling out again for his brother as a guttural moan escaped his throat. Releasing Layla Sam ran to him. Dean grabbed at his abdomen and began heaving violently. Chunks of lunch, breakfast, meals long past shot out of him and splattered over Layla’s grave and the brown grass surrounded them. Dead. How had they missed this? Between them they clocked in more hunting hours than he’d ever have imagined. Images of their father’s stern disapproval wavered in his mind. Yeah, well, shut up Dad – you weren’t here four years ago and you sure as hell aren’t here now.

Limp against his grip Dean tried to stand back up. He buckled and only Sam’s quick reflexes kept him from falling face down in his own vomit. Sam hauled his brother up and held him up against his side. Dean struggled to hold up as much of his weight as he could. They needed answers.

“Mrs. Rourke,” Sam began, forcing his voice to gentleness. “What is this? What did you do? These spells always backfire. Let me help for your daughter’s sake.”

She laughed hard and fast. “Right. Get your brother out of here and enjoy what time you have left. Then you can visit him once in a while just like he used to do Layla.”

At Sam’s raised brow, she seethed, “Yes. I knew. I’ve known for years, cringing every time I thought of you filth desecrating my daughter’s grave. Each time I died a little more inside, impotent to stop you. But then I learned. It was all set until your brother up and died.” She paused to stare at Dean’s slumped form. “So I was going to do it myself. It’s a mother’s place after all, to sacrifice for her children.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sam leapt. “Why didn’t you use yourself? You don’t need us. Like you said, it’s your daughter.”

Again that mirthless laugh followed by a shadow that crossed her features. “I was going to … was getting ready …”

She’d been afraid, Sam surmised. Easy to talk about giving up one’s life for someone else, another to actually do it. No, that takes a special kind of brave idiot. He felt a shudder of pain pass through Dean. Disgust for this woman made his mouth taste foul. Pushing down his emotions, his fear, he persevered. He needed information, as much as he could get. And she wanted to gloat, to show off, it was written all over her.

“Where’d you find the hoodoo spell?”

At this she perked up, came out of the momentary thoughtful hole she’d fallen into. “You like it? It’s very old. Older than recorded memory they tell me.”

“What’s it do, exactly?”

The mother pointed at Layla who stood still, perpetually bemused, at her side. “Can’t you see? It’s working as we speak. Every cell, every atom, coming gloriously alive.”

Dean jerked again slightly. Sam reached up to touch his brother’s brow. Burning. Some sort of fever. He had to get his brother out of here. “Is she a zombie?”

“Such a nasty word. So misused by those Hollywood no-nothings. She is simply alive. And will grow more so while your brother …”

Sam’s gut clenched. Dean’s life was somehow being used to restore Layla. And once it was used up … No, not again. “Undo this!”

“I’m going to tell you something. Not because I think it will stop you from hurting me, but because I’m a good Christian woman and I don’t want you to suffer from never knowing. I’m not looking to torment you. I have what I want now so I can give you this peace.”

He scowled because he didn’t know where this endless setup was heading.

“I can’t undo it,” she said simply. “No one can.”

**Part 3 – The Brotherhood of the Traveling Martyrs**

Back at the motel he started with the obvious – Tylenol for the fever and the pain. He wet a washcloth with cool water and held it to Dean’s hot forehead. The vomiting had ceased, thank goodness. They’d had to stop three times during the ten-minute drive to the motel. The last time, Dean had coughed up blood. Sam tried not to think about that. He needed to stay calm, think this through, work it out.

Dean’s palm wound had healed itself, further testament to the strength of this spell. For the first time in months he wished Ruby was still around. The bitch knew her black magic like nobody’s business. She’d even saved Dean once from a spell, not that anyone ever spoke of that. One in a long line of shit nobody ever spoke about.

“Ss … ammy,” Dean slurred.

“I’m here. We’re back in the room. I’m going to figure this out, Dean. It’ll be okay.”

“Gotta get … Layla … back in ’er gr … ave.”

Dean thought this was a normal zombie case. The fever was addling his brain. For now all Sam could do was play along. “Sure Dean. I’ll get her back there and stake her. No worries.”

“Mother shh… ouldn’t’ve … ‘S wrong.”

Wrong as it could be, Sam thought _. Dead things should stay dead_. Sam looked down at Dean’s ashy complexion. Studied his own hand as he refolded the washcloth to the cool side and returned it to his brother’s brow. Because they both lived the world was fucked to hell. The wash cloth warmed up again in seconds. His brother’s eyes were closed, his breathing hard, another pain spike made him gasp suddenly, momentarily stealing Sam’s own breath.

He’d do it again -- take Dean to that faith healer -- do it again in a heartbeat.

***

“Bobby. It’s … Dean.”

He heard the breath intake on the other end and felt the worry sizzle through the line. “What happened Sam?”

“Hoodoo spell. Real dark. A … Someone … raised a zombie. Not your normal zombie. Not hungry, very normal. The conjurer sliced Dean’s palm and said the spell, added some powder and … DNA. It linked them – Dean and Layla -- the zombie. She’s getting more alive and he’s …”

“Hmm.”

“You know somethin’ Bobby?” _Please Bobby, know what to do._

“Maybe. I’ll need to look up some things. Tell me everything. What she say, exactly?”

Sam shared all he could remember, every detail down to the saliva. And her statement that killing Layla would kill Dean. Bobby was quiet a moment.

“Okay, leave the zombie for now, especially as it doesn’t seem she’s hurtin’ anyone. Well, no civilians.” He paused. “Sam? Dean runnin’ a temperature?” Bobby asked with a lilt in his voice as if the question was almost too odd to ask.

“Yes. A high one. Tylenol helped a little but now it’s back. He’s got these abdominal pains. He was vomiting up a storm but that’s stopped. What is this … if I didn’t know better he almost seems—”

“Infected,” Bobby finished for him.

Sam started. “That’s not possible. She – the zombie – never bit him. And even if it did that’s an old wive’s tale, movie nonsense. Zombies don’t make other zombies.”

“This ain’t no ordinary zombie, Sam. The woman, its mother you say, she’s raisin’ the dead. Really raisin’ the dead. Full on life, no pale flesh-eating imitation. And to do that you need some mighty black mojo. And a sacrifice. Or two.”

 _Dean_. “What do we do Bobby? How long does – do we have?”

Silence.

“Bobby?”

“Maybe three days. Four max, and if we reach that point the damage may be … irreversible.”

Sam’s stomach twisted and he feared he’d hurl. He had a year last time and he hadn’t been able to save Dean. Three days. He shut his eyes and thanked Bobby telling him to please call back as soon as he knew more.

Dean stirred and opened his eyes again groggily. The pain killer was kicking in because his face was calm, the grimace gone. Back in freakin’ Nebraska with his brother dying. He couldn’t have cooked up a worst nightmare. Well, one that didn’t include any fallen angels.

“Hey Dean,” he said as cheerily as possible. “You feelin’ a little better?”

“Thirsty.”

Grabbing the canteen he carefully held it to his brother’s lips. “Easy. Want you to keep it down.”

“Whu … happen’d?”

For the second time in five minutes Sam retold the story.

“Layla’s mother?”

Sam nodded.

“Layla’s alive?” Dean asked in a tone that could only be described as pleased.

No. _Goddammit, no_. Dean was not going to somehow twist this sick puppy into some sort self-sacrificial existential good. It sucked. It was fucked up. None of it was good, not even Layla being alive. Remembering himself and forcing the anger into check Sam answered his brother calmly.

“In a matter of speaking. Trouble is, it’s kinda draining you.”

After staring glassily at his brother a moment, Dean muttered a positive acceptance. Sam had to turn his head to keep from erupting. How was it after everything that had happened, might happen, Dean could still think … not value … it would be easier to just knock his head against the wall than to try to figure out his brother’s martyr wish.

“Spoke to Bobby. He’s researching. We’ll figure it out.”

Dean perked at this a moment then got a shuttered look. “We gotta kill Layla?”

That was it. Enough was enough. “Dean. Layla is dead. Has been for years. Killing her is beside the point. She’s not supposed to be alive. It’s you we have to worry about.”

“I know that Sam. Just … just tired.”

Guilt assuaged Sam. This wasn’t the time to argue. Flashes of his father sprang from way deep. _Can we not do this? Please_. “I’m sorry Dean. You have a fever but I think it’s maybe breaking. You sound stronger.”

Dean nodded, tried to sit up but slumped back down.

“Whoa. Not yet. Let’s take it slow. How about some food? Think you could keep some soup down?”

Dean’s silent head shake spoke volumes. Whatever this psychic illness was, his brother was suffering. _Complain_ , _Dean_ , he wanted to shout. _Yell, shout, tell me off, tell Mrs. Fucking Rourke off_. Anything but this willing victim routine.

He went to start up his laptop when Dean reached up and feather light pulled on the cuff of his sleeve.

“Y’ leavin’ Sam?”

Sam swallowed hard. “No. Just going to research some. I’ll be right here.”

“S…sorry.”

Sam looked down surprised but Dean had shut his eyes and looked like he’d started to doze.

“For what?” he asked his idiot brother. There was no reply.

***

His fingers shook slightly as he dialed. He didn’t even know if she still lived in Lincoln, not that it would make much difference as the odds of her wanting to help were slim. He just didn’t have the luxury of being too proud to beg.

“Tamara?” he said. “Sam Winchester.”

The silence told him she knew who he was, not that there was much chance she wouldn’t. At least she hadn’t immediately hung up.

“Coulda done without hearing from a Winchester,” she said slowly. “Like forever. What do you want?”

“It’s about my brother, Dean.”

“Heard he was back. Mazel tov. What’s it got to do with me?”

“We’re in Nebraska. Not too far from you in fact. We were visiting the grave of an … of someone we once knew. The deceased’s mother … she blamed Dean … Anyway she raised her daughter, Tamara. Used some hoodoo I only thought was legend. Christian stuff mixed with ancient text. It’s … draining Dean and turning her daughter from zombie to really alive, I guess … Bobby says we have maybe three days. I thought … I hoped … you might be willing to help.”

She was quiet for so long Sam had to check the phone to ensure the signal hadn’t dropped off. “Last time I helped you boys my Isaac …”

“I know … Please Tamara, Bobby told us he didn’t know anybody that knew about hoodoo like you do. Learned from your grandmother, right? Dean … he’s … please.”

“For sure I’m going to live to regret this,” she said before asking where he was.

For the first time since it happened, Sam started to feel a little hope. He had Bobby researching, he’d dig up all he could himself and in just a little while the resident expert on hoodoo was going to walk through the door. It was coming together. Bit by bit, just like last time, he was going to make this right.

Dean called out again.

“Yeah Dean. Right here. What do you need?”

“I’m starving.”

Sam had to smile. Maybe things really were looking up.

His brother was now sitting up and his color looked better. He wondered if they’d perhaps overestimated Mrs. Rourke’s abilities.

“Sam. I know you told me this already, but, what the fuck happened?”

Sighing, he told the tale again.

“No shit? That little churchgoer did this to me?”

Sam nodded.

“Freakin’ fanatics. And killing Layla won’t undo this?”

Sam shook his head no, pleased that some self preservation was reemerging within Dean. “The Mom said that if Layla dies you would, too. Bobby seemed to think it possible enough to leave it be. For now.”

Dean checked out his palm. Sam wondered if he remembered that part.

“Huh,” his brother said.

“It healed quick.”

“Right. I seem to recall puking my guts out.”

“All the way back.”

“Tell me I didn’t soil baby.”

“No. I pulled you out in time.”

“Thank god.”

Dean really had the strangest priorities. “How about I heat up that soup I offered you earlier?”

He got a pout. “Guess a bacon cheeseburger might be pushin’ things?”

“A tad.”

Sam walked over to the room’s little kitchenette area grateful that it was there and opened up one of their stock cans of Campbell’s chicken and stars. He grinned, still Dean’s favorite since childhood. “Feels familiar,” he said as he stirred. “Think you can make it to the table?”

“’M not an invalid.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

He turned around to see Dean almost rise and then fall back to a sitting position. Abandoning the soup he walked over and wordlessly offered a hand. Frustration colored Dean’s cheeks as he held on to Sam’s arm and they worked their way slowly to the small table.

Once settled, he waited quietly for Sam to bring the bowl over. He ate slowly, so not Dean. Sam pushed the worry down. They were going to get through this. It would work out.

“So what kind of whammy did she lay on me?” Dean asked when he was through.

“Old. Mostly Christian, other things, too.”

“I hate hoodoo.”

“I know.”

“She was holding the bible. Shoulda realized it then.”

True. So much of hoodoo conjuring was tied up in the bible, especially the Old Testament. All about retribution. Sam knew Mrs. Rourke specifically held Dean accountable for Layla’s death by stopping the faith healer from curing her. No matter that for every life the preacher saved the preacher’s wife choose another one for the reaper to take. Playing god. What gave people the right? Fighting back that twinge of guilt he remembered his brother’s face when the truth had come out. Dean had been tempted to choose – Layla over that protester. But Dean knew right from wrong. Sometimes too much so.

Despite the food Dean’s coloring remained paler than Sam would have liked. A sheen of perspiration covered his brow. Fever. Again. He handed Dean a couple more Tylenols before returning to his laptop.

“Thanks.”

Dean opened up his own laptop, a sight that continually made Sam smile a little inside. They worked silently facing each other across the small table. Until Dean moaned under his breath and clutched his stomach.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Comes and goes. ‘M okay now.” Attention back on his screen Dean said, “Huh.”

Sam looked up.

“You said Bobby told you I might be infected. Like with the zombie virus?”

“Dean. There is no zombie virus.”

“28 Days Later zombie or cult classic like The Evil Dead?”

“You think this is funny?

“Maybe more Resident Evil?” Dean chuckled. “Yeah Sam. I actually kinda do. The Church Lady shot me up with the T-Virus. Guess this’ll put a crimp in the master plan.”

“What do you mean?”

Shaking his head Dean said, “Nothing.” He was silent another moment, eyes looking over his screen. “Sam. If this goes south, if I start doing anything I shouldn’t … you know what to do, right?”

“Dean …”

“No. We don’t know what this shit is. Hoodoo’ll probably just kill me. But just in case it does something else – changes me – I need to know you’ll do what’s right. Or do I need to ask Bobby?”

Sam felt the punch deep in his gut. He was supposed to promise to kill Dean. The irony washed over him tasting bitter. When the hell weren’t they talking about killing each other? He mentally shook his head. None of this mattered because it was never going to come to that. He was going to work this out, like he had before. Nobody was going to need killing. Nobody was going to die.

“Fine,” he barked. “But it won’t be necessary. There is no such thing as a zombie virus. Bobby was speaking metaphorically. Tamara will be here soon and we’ll figure out what we need to reverse this.”

Dean looked at him, face pale, eyes sunken deep. “Thanks.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Maybe we should c—”

But he never finished because a spasm of pain had Dean grunting and doubling over.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

His brother fell off the chair and kneeled on the floor. The vomiting was deep and hard and tore any remaining food, plus it seemed half his guts onto the already stained motel rug. Leaning over Sam held Dean’s back as heave after heave tore through him. He caught a nasty smell, fouler than the puke on the rug. Oh god. Dean had soiled his pants.

“Ss … sorry,” Dean was muttering between desperate gasps. “Hurts …”

Leaving him a moment, Sam ran for the washcloth still on the nightstand and wiped Dean’s face gently. He could tell the spasm was passing by the slowly relaxing features on his brother’s face. Pushing up on one knee Dean tried to stand. Sam held his elbow supporting much of his weight.

“Can you make it to the bathroom?” he asked. “We have to get you cleaned up.”

Dean’s face reddened. “Sorry,” he murmured again.

“Shut up. It’s okay.”

He sat Dean on the toilet and watched as he sunk against the tile. Sam’s head swam. Should he take Dean to a hospital? He’d need fluids, was likely dehydrated. They usually just took care of themselves. Of each other. Forcing his attention on the task at hand he adjusted the shower’s temperature and helped Dean undress. It was a testament to how weak Dean was that he was allowing any of this. He tossed the soiled shorts into the bathroom’s small garbage and tied off the liner bag.

Dean stood tentatively and opened the shower stall. Inside he leaned again against the wall.

“Do you need me to help?” Sam asked.

“We are NOT showering together,” Dean blasted, despite the strain to his throat. “Keep your deranged fantasies to yourself. Bad enough those sicko fans write about this shit all the time.”

Sam smiled. Snarky Dean was definitely better than on his knees throwing-up-his-guts Dean.

“I’m gonna wait outside. Call if you need me.”

“Yeah, yeah, perv, peep show’s over.”

Back in the main room Sam cleaned up the mess best he could. The smell was another matter. He rooted around their supplies and poured some bleach on the rug stain. Best he could do.

The knock startled him before he remembered – Tamara.

She stood in the doorway long enough for Sam to have to say, “Please, come in.”

Inside, she scrunched up her nose in disgust.

“I’m sorry. Dean got … sick. I … I’m sorry.”

“Smelled worse,” she said after a moment.

Given their line of work Sam didn’t doubt it. She held a large duffle bag which she dropped. If the thud was any indication, it was heavy.

“Books,” she answered his unspoken query. “ _Grimoires_.”

The bathroom door opened and Dean emerged wearing a towel slung low on his hips. Sam knew that it had to be his imagination but his brother looked slighter somehow. Tamara gave him the once over. After years of watching women appreciate his brother this was nothing new. Dean attempted his thousand watt smile but it was clearly dimmed.

“Tamara.”

“Dean.”

“You look good.”

“You look alive.”

Dean’s lips twisted up in a small smirk. “For now.”

“Guess that’s what I’m here for.”

The flirting left Dean’s eyes. “I … appreciate your doing this.”

Tamara had already dismissed him and was moving her heavy bag toward the desk.

“Sam?”

“Yeah Tamara?”

“Give that fool some clothes.”

***

They worked straight through till the sun hung low in the sky. Dean had sat with them at first but then exhaustion took over. At Sam’s insistence he’d lain down and now was sleeping fairly calmly. He knew the cramps weren’t over because every once in a while Dean would groan. On the plus side, as the afternoon progressed he’d drank and kept down a couple of bottles of Electrolyte, a fluid replacement solution. Tamara had brought them aware of the symptoms they could expect.

Sam reviewed the texts till he thought his eyes would shrivel up. They knew more about what Mrs. Rourke had done to Dean than Sam could even have hoped for. Unfortunately everything they learned tightened the knot in Sam’s gut. She hadn’t lied. The spell was one-way – Dean to Layla. Kill her and he’d die instantly. Of course, the reverse was also true if the transformation wasn’t complete but this hardly held much comfort.

Something about the spell continued to intrigue Sam. He cross referenced with another of Tamara’s _grimoires_. Nausea rose quick and high in his throat. “Oh god,” he uttered.

“Found it, didja?”

“The powder …”

“Mostly ground up baby bone.”

“Sacrificial,” he whispered.

“Yes. She had to kill the baby herself or it wouldn’t work. This is about the darkest kind of vengeance possible, Sam. That almost always means the blood of an innocent.”

He really was going to be sick. Dean couldn’t know that. Could never know that.

“She’s insane.”

“Probably. But that doesn’t help us. Spells like this are very powerful, evil, old. To try to reverse it would take …”

“Something just as evil.”

Tamara didn’t say anything. _The blood of the innocent_. He’d gone down that road before. Couldn’t … wouldn’t … His head was spinning. Was she saying that the only way to save Dean would be to kill a baby themselves? It couldn’t be … there had to be something else. Something they’d missed.

His cell phone trilled breaking the silence.

 _Bobby_. “You got something?” he said by way of hello.

“How’s Dean?” the older hunter asked.

He looked over to the bed. Dean was sleeping. His color was a pale ash. Forehead gleamed. Again.

“’bout the same. Cramps. Fever. More vomiting earlier but it stopped again. Got some fluids in him.” He could visualize Bobby’s head shake. Assumed it meant none of this was unexpected. “Bobby, Tamara’s here. We’ve been researching.”

“I know. She called me on the way to you.”

“Hold on and I’ll put you on speaker.”

Sam glanced toward the bed where Dean had stirred but was still asleep. As if reading his mind Bobby asked, “What’s Dean got to say ‘bout all this?”

“He joked about the Rage virus.”

“Sounds like Dean.”

“What’re we dealing with here Bobby? He’s not really going to change?”

“No. Not that I can see.”

Good, he thought darkly. Meant he would just die.

“But it will progress like an illness,” Bobby continued. “Won’t make him raving mad but it’s destroying his organs just the same.”

The nausea returned. He rose and popped open a soda can offering one to Tamara. “Okay. We know the bad. Now what’s good? What can we do about it? Slow it down at least till we get a handle.”

Silence.

“Sam …” Tamara began softly. “I’m sorry.”

 _No_. He was not giving up on Dean. He hadn’t four years ago and he wasn’t now. That was the difference he told himself. He hadn’t tried hard enough last year, and that’s why … but not this time. Not here. Not now. He remembered Rock Ridge. The ghost sickness. It had taken a drastic measure but they’d figured it out. He and Bobby.

“Bobby. We are not giving up.”

“Son …”

This could not be happening. Not Bobby, too. “The innocent blood, to do our own spell, can it be animal … a baby deer or lamb?”

Tamara’s eyes widened. “Not strong enough. Has to be human.”

“Would baby animal blood slow it down at least?”

She shook her head. His was spinning, ideas forming and rejecting, moving, shifting faster than he could process. “What if … the baby … died of natural causes … before we …” He stood and started pacing, unable to contain the energy flowing through him because this time he thought he had it.

“Sam!” Bobby hollered on the other end of the line. “You can’t be sayin’ what I think I’m hearin’?”

“Hear me out. Babies die all the time. Illness. Born too premature. Crib death. It wouldn’t be our fault.”

It was gruesome even to his own ears. Draining a baby dry. Made last year’s indiscretions a walk in the park. Dean would rather die than have this be the way he was saved. _Made no difference._

“I love your brother like my own blood but Sam how can you even--?”

“Sam, Bobby, stop,” Tamara interrupted. “Just stop. It won’t work – even if we considered it – can’t be a natural death. The baby would have to be – killed.”

The floor sank out from under Sam and his breath left him in whoosh. Stumbling he held onto the back of the chair.

“Sam, I know how hard this is … can’t believe we’re freakin’ facing this again. But dark magic ain’t gonna get us out of this one. We need somethin’ stronger.”

 _Castiel_. How could Sam not have thought of this already? What was wrong with him? Dean had. Of course, that’s what he meant before he passed out before. He’d wasted all this time and for what? To placate his ego that he could save his brother on his own? What kind of dick was he? The angels needed Dean. They would make this right.

“I’m gonna call Castiel,” Sam said. “This ends tonight.”

**Part 4: The Wings Beneath My Feet**

Tamara left apologizing that she hadn’t been able to help further. Sam thanked her. It meant a lot that she’d come, that she’d tried. They had so few friends. Sometimes Sam thought back to his Stanford days like they’d happened to someone else. He used to have friends. He’d text them, call them. Visit even. He and Jess would go to parties, go out for drinks, dinner with other couples. Jessica. God he missed her. Her eyes. Her laugh. It made him cringe how Lucifer had used her form to try to manipulate him. Polluted her so that even thinking about her now caused his gut to contract in fear.

Nothing in their fucked up lives could stay pure. Azazel had seen to that. Taken everything he’d ever loved. Mom, Jess, Dad, Dean. All because that yellow-eyed bastard had wanted Sam. If only his mom had stopped having children after Dean. Looking at the still form of his brother on the bed he imagined he and their father and mother as a happy, normal family. It’s all Dean had ever wanted. He knew Dean would never want anything to happen to Sam, but what if he’d never been born? You can’t miss what you don’t know. He brushed his hand across Dean’s hot forehead.

“I’m sorry Dean,” he whispered.

Digging out Dean’s cell phone he clicked on Castiel’s name. An angel on speed dial, if the situation wasn’t dire it would be fucking hilarious.

“Dean?” a deep, gravelly voice said.

“Castiel, it’s Sam. We’re at the Sleep Well Inn on Cornhusker Highway outside Lincoln, Nebraska. Can you come? Dean … needs you.”

Before he’d hit disconnect there was the faintest rustling and the trench coat-wearing smaller man stood behind him, eyeing Dean on the bed.

“This is bad,” Castiel said solemnly. Ignoring Sam he approached Dean, laying a hand gently on his forehead. Sam fought the pang of jealousy. He wasn’t used to anyone else taking care of his brother. It was his job, always had been. He’d patched up Dean and their dad more times than he could count. Bandages, stitches, antibiotics, pain killers, fevers and flus and knife wounds. Blood covering every inch of his brother’s self-proclaimed handsome face. Washed and mended and … _his_. He shook himself out of this ridiculous place. Worry about what mattered, he chastised himself. Worry about your brother.

For the fourth time he detailed the events of the past eight hours. He didn’t leave out anything. Naked truth because Cas didn’t trust him as it was and the only way to gain that back was this, unvarnished truth no matter what it cost him. He knew that Dean and Cas had something … something he wasn’t part of. Most times he was fine with it. Understood it. Castiel had done what he, himself, had not been able to do – he’d saved Dean from Hell. So as long as he breathed he owed the angel. He owed the angel Dean’s life.

All the time that Sam spoke, explained, Castiel had sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, back to Sam, gazing down intently at Dean.

“Cas?” Dean said groggily.

“I’m here Dean.”

“Ss … am call you?”

“Cas,” Sam cut in. “Can you cure him?”

Castiel turned, rose from where he’d sat on the edge of the bed and approached Sam. He stood close but not as close as when he’d leaned over Dean. His head tilted slightly. “Your brother is not sick,” he said softly as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sam twitched in surprise. “What do you mean? Look at him! He can barely keep his eyes open. Of course he’s sick!”

“This is not a natural illness.”

Tell him something he didn’t know. “Cas, I know that. But the symptoms are physical enough. His organs are shutting down and we have to …” He pushed his hand through his hair in frustration. Wasn’t this obvious? What was the question here?

“Cas … ” Dean called out again and the angel turned. He approached the bed again and a look passed between them. Dean nodded.

Sam felt like screaming as the frustration turned his blood hot.

“Sam,” Dean said. “C’mere.”

Castiel moved away as Sam approached. Irrational fear gripped him. Dean was looking at him in a way that reminded him of last year … a way that meant …

“Sam. Listen. Don’t get mad. Cas can’t help me.”

Red flashed before his eyes. Sharp, hot and blazing. “Can’t or won’t?! What the fuck is this? Cas, you’re stronger than this, I know it, this is fucked up evil shit that should never, never be allowed to stand. If you can’t then call Zachariah, call someone stronger, call Gabriel, he’s out of work right now anyway. Call god for all I care – make this better.”

“Sam.”

“No. Dean. No. Don’t you dare ‘Sam’ me. This is obscene. I don’t … I can’t …”

He collapsed onto Dean’s bed, his legs feeling like limp noodles. Bobby, Cas, Dean, they all seemed to think this was okay. It was not okay. He took a deep breath forcing himself to calm down.

“Cas,” he said slowly. “Can Dean be saved?”

He closed his eyes unable to see his brother’s sad plea for one second longer.

“Not by me,” Cas said.

 _Whoa_. Finally. Now we’re talking. “Who then?”

Dean said, “Sam. No.”

“Shut up. Cas, who can help Dean?”

He knew the damn answer even before Cas said it. “Michael. Michael can heal Dean.”

“If he says yes?”

Sam didn’t have to wait for Cas’s soft nod. He turned to face Dean’s stubborn, set expression. Another impasse. And the clock kept ticking.

**Part 5 – California Dreamer**

Dean would not consider saying yes to Michael and Sam wanted to trounce him in frustration. To his credit his brother had asked if the research with Tamara had unearthed anything. Cas had stared at him then, navy eyes intense. Knowing. Did Dean’s angel really think that Sam would slaughter a baby in cold blood? He remembered the nurse, Lilith’s helper, begging, pleading … this was different. The blood had changed him then, twisted him inside until he no longer knew who he was. Now he knew. No, Cas … _I’m not going to kill a child_.

There was just so much he could tell Dean. “This … spell is very dark Dean. A spell to undo it would have to be just as dark.”

It’s all the explanation his brother needed. He’d been around enough to know what that meant.

He tried again. “Dean. Maybe you could talk to Michael.”

“The sonofabitch hasn’t shown yet.”

Sam turned to Castiel.

“I believe he would come if Dean said yes,” the angel said.

“You believe? You don’t even know that?!”

“Most likely,” he said solemnly.

Again that smash his head against the wall feeling came back. He paced and ran his hands through his hair. Dean looked worse than he’d ever seen him. Well, alive, that was. Even after the Rawhead that had landed him in this godforsaken state four years ago he looked better than he did now. Bobby had said three days. He doubted it would go two. There had to be a way. He was missing something.

“Sam,” Dean called, drawing his attention back to the gaunt figure on the bed. “You haven’t slept in 24 hours. You need to rest.”

“I can rest when you’re okay,” he argued.

Castiel approached him. Uncharacteristically invaded his space the way he often did with Dean. “Your brother is right. You can’t help anyone if you fall ill yourself. I will stay with Dean. Sleep. I promise Dean will be here when you awake.”

The two men stared at each other. That’s a promise that the angel better not break. Understanding flowed between them. He sat next to Dean feeling for a fever with his palm. Not too bad, warm, but not hot. That calmed him some. Their eyes caught and a thousand words wanted to tumble out. A thousand apologies for all his wrongs. He wanted to beg him not to die. To hold him and not let go. To cry. Instead, he stood and walked to the other bed.

Sam stretched out thinking that it would be impossible to fall asleep. He was wrong.

***

_Hello Sam._

A moment of disorientation led to clarity. _I’m dreaming_.

_Yes. You’re troubled. Tell me why._

_Go away._

Lucifer stood in Nick’s body, the one he said wouldn’t hold him forever and paced slowly to the other side of the bed. Alarmed Sam bolted up. But Dean wasn’t on the other bed. Castiel was gone. They were alone in the room. It’s just a dream, he reminded himself. His brother was fine. Castiel would take care of him. This gave him comfort.

Since the fallen angel clearly wasn’t going to accept his earlier command he tried another question. _What do you want?_

_I thought we’d already established that._ That soft almost grin appeared again. _Your brother is dying._

_If you already know this then why ask me what’s wrong?_

Lucifer smiled, twisting Nick’s soft lips upward gently. __

Words. It’s all he has. Let him talk. Maybe he’ll say something useful. Something they can use strategically one day.

 _Have you asked my brothers to help Dean_?

Sam squirmed a bit and wondered what to say.

_Of course you have. But they turned you down, right?_

True, but he wasn’t going to admit this to Lucifer. The fallen angel tilted his head. A trait so similar to the way Cas moved it jolted Sam.

_My brother Michael could heal your brother._

_If Dean accepts him._

_Well, yes._

Sam waited, suspecting what was coming.

_Sam. I might be able to help as well._

Even expecting it his heart lurched.

_You can cure Dean?_

Lucifer gazed at him pityingly. He knew how naked he was right then, how desperate he must sound.

_No Sam. I’m sorry. It’s not that I wouldn’t. I would. For you. But I was unclear. Only Michael can cure Dean. I meant that I could … we could … get Dean to say yes. So that Michael can save him._

Now Sam was confused. The angels’ screwed up family made his own look like the Brady Bunch.

_I don’t understand._

Lucifer sighed and gazed at him softly. It was disorienting that gaze. Not predatory. Loving. He blinked and broke eye contact.

_Dean will not say yes and he will die. Unless your brother has a reason to say yes. There is only one reason Sam. You know this. Only one person he’d do this for ... It’s not himself. It’s not humanity. Not the world. Not any angel in heaven or on earth._

_Me. He’d say yes to save me._

Another soft smile. It was true, Sam knew. If Dean thought he could save him there likely wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give up. He’d already given up his life, would it be harder to give up his body?

_Will you tell him you’ll kill me if he doesn’t say yes?_

Lucifer looked at him like he was a small boy having trouble in class. _I won’t kill you, Sam. I need you. You are my chosen one. We have a great future ahead of us, together._ The fallen angel sighed again.

_Families are difficult. They fight. But they love each other. So it is for me. I loved my brothers, my Father, more than anything. You know what that’s like. I can feel it in you. If you say yes to me then Dean will say yes to Michael. He will foolishly think he has to kill you to save you. But that’s a lie, Sam. They are lying to you both. I miss my brother, Sam. Remember that? Remember those days in school when you ached for him until you thought your heart would crumble? It’s the same for us. I only want us to … be together again._

He’s insane. Satan was insane. If giggling had been appropriate he would have burst into a spray long before now.

_You want me to say yes to you not so you can rule the world but so that you can have a family reunion?_

_Well, we shall also rule the world. But it will be glorious. As it should have been before …_

Before humans, Sam thought but didn’t volunteer. His head was reeling. In between all the crazy banter there was a kernel of truth. If he said yes then Dean might very well accept Michael. And he’d live. As an angel condom. The world would burn and humanity wouldn’t stand a chance.

He was not considering this. He wasn’t.

_They lie Sam. They don’t trust you. You know this, right? Did my brothers tell you where Dean would go after he dies?_

Sam looked at Lucifer, rising from the bed to take advantage of his height, his physicality. Irrational in a dream but it still soothed.

 _Where he’ll go?_ Flashes of red stripes filled his vision suddenly _. You can’t possibly mean Hell?_

The smile widened. _Ah. I can’t tell you that. Not because I don’t want to. Truth is, I don’t know. I’d bet my brothers would tell you otherwise. Promise up and down that, yes, your brother will go to Heaven. But that’s a lie, Sam. I don’t lie._

_Why wouldn’t he go to Heaven?_

_I didn’t say he wouldn’t Sam. I said I didn’t know._

God, was it possible? After everything could Dean end up back in the pit? With a stone in his stomach he remembered his brother’s tears as he told him he’d liked torturing those souls. Going back would destroy him completely. Even if it were possible there would be nothing left to save.

 _Because of what he did? What they made him do?_ He hated the warble in his voice but didn’t know how to stop it.

 _My Father … can be hard … rigid … dare I say unforgiving at times_. Lucifer paused. _Sometimes fathers can be like that._

Sam blanched. John wasn’t perfect but he forgave. So would god.

_Ah, it’s difficult, I know. One always wants to think the best. But there are rules. What your brother did in my home. It makes him unwelcome elsewhere._

This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t facing the same impossible scenario all over again. He seized on something that Lucifer had said.

_You said you didn’t know. He may not go to Hell. Who knows then? Who would know where Dean would end up?_

_Our Father. The decision is already made but we aren’t told. He doesn’t speak to us anymore. He’s away. Absent. You remember what that’s like, right Sam?_

Rigid. Hard. Unforgiving. If you leave this house don’t ever come back. Sam’s legs felt weak and it was all he had to stay standing. It ceased being a question in his mind. If Dean died he’d be back in … Lucifer eyed him carefully. Steady expression. Never feral. Never mean. He approached him slowly, arms spread, palms up.

_Sam. I’m sorry. I am. I believed it was your right to know all the facts before you say your last goodbyes to your brother. Our Fathers … they tried … we know this … but they weren’t always right, were they? And as for my brothers. I wish they were honest with you. At least you know I always will be._

_Maybe … maybe Dean won’t. You don’t know …_

_No. I admitted as much. I don’t know. But Sam_ _there are millennia of precedence._

This time his legs did give out and he sat back on his bed. Lucifer sat beside him.

_Sam. You love him so much. I know how this is. How it hurts. Your brother who’d do anything for you. My Father won’t help him. But you can. You don’t have to give up. You can make it right. Keep him safe._

He placed his fingertip to Sam’s forehead. A white flash filled the room and Sam gasped.

_What?_

Images flooded faster than he should be able to process but he saw them, felt them all. His mother and father calling Dean into his nursery to peer into the crib at his baby brother. The young boy’s eyes a teeny bit anxious until they met his own, then widening as a smile took over his face. Smiling, laughing, tickling. _Terror_. Dad placing him in young Dean’s arms ordering him to go, to run and not look back. Standing outside as the house burns, secure in the only embrace that he recalls means love. Moving and crying and hugging. Bone freezing fright as he awakens to a nightmare and Dean is there. Always there. Alone and hungry. Sharing the last of whatever they have. _Giving_. Anger and fighting and tears. More tears than seem possible. Exchanging, forgiving, growing, learning. Provoking until his stomach is a permanent clench. Mediating, soothing, cajoling, snarking, joking away the fear, making it safe.

Stop, he wanted to shout. It was too much … he couldn’t …

 _Pain_. He sees it now. Sees himself walk away. Hears his father’s sharp words and sees, for the first time what he knew but never faced. Tears track down his brother’s face as he turns away from his livid father and walks alone out of the house. Staring at the road Sam has taken, unable to follow. Standing still. Alone. Lost.

The pace picks up and the faces of every soul saved waves in front of his eyes. Hundreds of selfless acts compound and build until they form a mountain he can’t see over. Then Sam is there again, beside his brother and they drive endless hours, an easy flow that feels like breathing.

The demon chases them, takes their father and they stand alone. _Together_. The pain flickers on Dean’s face until Sam thinks he’ll drown in it. Begging him to talk to him, share it, be my brother. He’s in Cold Oak and the pain flashes quickly through his back, and he floats, looks down to see Dean holding him in a death grip, staggered in agony. His brother is talking to him, asking him what he should do. Asking god. The bastard never answers and suddenly Sam’s back. Talking, fighting, alive.

Ruby appears. Hovering in shadows, helping and not, friend and not, and Sam wants to believe so bad he hears anything and accepts. Lilith and the hell hounds. The roar fills the space and he sees them blacker than any void, vicious and wild, tearing at Dean’s flesh, ripping it from his bones in snarling, frenzied delight. Blank eyes staring as Dean sinks, falls seemingly forever.

It’s dark. Gray and black and red. Sharp wires stretch forever into the murky horizon. Dean’s hooked up on a mosaic of chains, spread open, split. Blood spurts from his shoulders where the hooks pierce through him, his chest heaves wildly, his heart beats in abject terror almost visible through the missing flesh. Then he shrieks -- harsh, guttural, raw. Help! No! Somebody help me. _Sam_. _Saaaaam_.

No, it’s too much. He can’t see that. Make it stop. No. Noooo.

“Sam wake up. Sam.”

Shaking, he rose slowly, forcing himself back, inhaling nonsulfurous air back into his lungs. “C … Cas,” he said.

“You were dreaming Sam.”

He looked quickly to the other bed. Dean lay very still. Eyes wild he asked, “Dean?”

“The same. He is resting. Are you all right?”

Sam looked inward and avoided Castiel’s probing stare. _God_ , he thought. His vision reddened with anger. _What god?_

First things first, he checked on Dean. Cas was right, he was sleeping, looking fairly calm. His skin was the color of a smoked cigarette. His dark, ridiculously long lashes hide the dark moons Sam knew were beneath. A drop fell on Dean’s cheek. Sam touched where his tear had landed, cupping his brother’s face within his large palm.

He turned to Castiel. “Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“Where he will go if he continues to refuse Michael?”

Cas tilted his head again. Must be an angel thing. “I don’t know, Sam. Nobody can know. It is God’s will that determines our path.”

Sam’s eyes slit. “Except that there are rules, right?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t play coy. Given what Dean did in Hell, what should he expect?”

Castiel had the common decency to look away. It was all the answer he needed. “We have to tell him, warn him.”

He was about to wake Dean up when Cas’s hand touched his shoulder. “Sam. He knows.”

Sam stared at the angel incredulously. “How do you …?”

“I just do.”

The green-eyed monster flared again at Dean and Cas’s closeness. “And yet you do nothing. Yell at him. Tell him to accept Michael. I’m not saying being an angel suit is some sort of great cosmic reward but it’s got to be better than …”

The images flashed again so sharp he felt each lash as if they’d struck his own soul.

“It’s not just accepting Michael that is stopping Dean. It’s what it would mean, Sam.”

“What it would …?”

“Michael will kill you,” Castiel said simply.

 _No._ Castiel couldn’t mean what he thought. Sam couldn’t be the reason Dean went to Hell. Again.

“Michael is not like Zachariah,” Cas continued. “He likes humanity. If he denies Lucifer his body then this ends quick and much less bloody.”

Is this what Lucifer meant? Oh god. Except not, because god left the building and at this point Sam had no interest in him coming back. He worked to process, to catch up, he felt like he walked into a class mid-semester and everyone knew more than he did.

“Then why … why doesn’t Michael just smite me dead right now or whatever you guys do?”

Castiel looked at him. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Sam asked incredulously.

“I don’t know for certain. I haven’t spoken to Michael. But that would not be his way.”

“He’d want to be wearing my brother’s body before he killed me?!”

“Sam. I know this is hard to understand. There would be … love … in that. He’d be enabling your brother to save you. I know you don’t see it that way.”

No. He certainly didn’t see it that way. Except he knew he’d willingly let Michael as Dean do whatever he wanted with him as long as it kept Dean out of freaking Hell. But Dean would never accept Michael knowing this outcome. As to how Dean knew all this Sam assumed it had come up in conversations with Castiel. Conversations Sam hadn’t been invited to participate in.

Full circle. The only way Dean would say yes to Michael, was if doing so would be the only way to save Sam. And the only scenario that made that possible was Sam saying yes to Lucifer.

**Part 6 – The Greatest Hits of Mullet Rock**

They closed on the second day since that woman cursed his brother in that damn cemetery and Sam was no closer to figuring out what to do than before. Castiel had gone and come back a few times without explanation. He never stayed away long. Sam thought he simply was giving he and Dean privacy. A chance to speak alone. Say all the things he should say. Mostly they were quiet. It was the Winchester way.

For a while Dean flipped channels on the television. But he couldn’t really sit up and his concentration was off. Sam looked at his brother lying so helpless on the bed and felt himself already starting to die again inside. Fighting the urge to strike something he went out to the Impala to retrieve a hated object.

Dean eyed the iPod and its little portable speakers with disdain. “I don’t wanna hear your emo music.”

“Shut up,” Sam said as he found the playlist he was searching for.

Led Zeppelin’s strong chords filled the small room. Dean’s face broke into a smile. “One good song,” he said.

One song drifted into another and soon Dean had that phased out, complete look, he often had in the Impala, windows open, elbow against the ledge.

“How’d you get my music on that thing?” Dean asked puzzled.

Sam smiled. “I downloaded the songs. Then I made a playlist.” At Dean’s questioning look he explained, “It’s a collection of songs, from different artists but with some sort of common theme, saved under a name you make up. Some folks make up playlists to run by or do housework.”

“Whatcha call this one … Mullet Rock’s Greatest Hits?” Dean snarked.

Face muscle ticking Sam looked at his brother. “No. I called it Dean.”

He flashed to the hours in the Impala he’d driven, mindlessly looping this playlist just to feel his brother’s presence for as long as he could. Until eventually even the music couldn’t trigger it. And he was just alone.

They’d stopped talking again after that and Sam had returned to his research. He remained determined that as he did four years ago, he would once more find a solution to this. A human had done this to them after all. A good Christian woman he thought with irony. His brother’s words rang in his head. _Demons I get. People are crazy!_

Dean had kept down a little more of the fluid. He didn’t seem to be in any great pain and Sam wondered if Castiel had something to do with that. He saw Dean look for Castiel when the other man wasn’t around. His heart tightened but he didn’t comment on this.

“Sam,” Dean called him. That was when Sam realized he’d been reading the same archaic text over and over.

He approached the bed. “Need something?”

“Stop.”

Sam looked down at him. “No.”

“Just for a bit. Sit.”

It was impossible to refuse. “Any pain?” he asked him, settling on the side of the bed.

“No.”

“Cas?”

“Prob’ly.”

They were silent a few minutes. Sam waited. Clearly Dean had something to say. Didn’t take much longer.

“Looks like I’m gonna miss the big battle after all Sam.”

The degree to which Sam did not want to hear this was immeasurable. “You don’t have to. You could be the general.”

“Nah. This body can’t be shared. Barely can hold me.”

“True,” Sam teased. “You are very full of yourself.”

Dean smiled but his face quickly turned serious. “You know what you gotta do. It’s gonna get tougher when I’m … Lucifer will want to move the show along, figures he’ll have nothing to lose. And you … maybe you’ll be feelin’ that way, too. The last time, well, after I came back, I didn’t take into account how hard it must have been for you … alone. God knows I couldn’t do it.”

“Dean.”

“No. Let me finish. I spoke with Cas. I know you and he … well, it’s been a bit rocky, but he’s a good guy, Sam. Loyal. He’ll have your back and you can trust him. Trust him like you do me. You won’t be alone this time. He promised me Sam. He’ll look out for you.”

Sam felt the tears building and blinked like mad. This could not be happening again. The voice in his head kept repeating over and over. _Stop this. Make it right. Find a way._

“Dean … please … say yes to Michael. Let him … you don’t have to ... God Dean, do you know where you’ll likely end up?”

“’S okay Sam. Know what to expect this time and I can handle it. ‘M stronger than before. Know myself better. Besides you killed Alistair.”

“We didn’t exhaust all angles yet Dean. We could try to find Gabriel again. Or Raphael.”

“I asked. Only Michael can cure me. The whole vessel thing.”

“Then do it. Dammit, please, I’m begging you, do it.”

“Can’t Sam. I just can’t.”

“Because he’ll kill me?”

Dean looked down. “It’s better this way.”

“No. It’s not. Why do you have to be such a stubborn SOB? Once, just once, why don’t you listen to me?”

Desperation rode through him like a wave at Dean’s calm, set expression. “What if I said yes?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Not any crazier than you are. I say yes and you say yes and then Michael killing me isn’t such a bad thing anymore.”

“This? This is your plan?”

“It’s better than yours.”

Dean’s eyes gleamed a bright green against his pale pallor. “Sam … I … I get it, I know. But I’m not worth the end of the freaking world.”

Before Sam could respond a slight shift indicated Castiel’s return. He wasn’t alone. Bobby sat in the center of the room looking shell shocked in his wheelchair.

“Well that was somethin’,” he said dryly.

“Bobby,” both brothers said simultaneously. Dean’s face lit up at hearing the older man’s voice.

“I thought you might want to see each other,” Castiel said softly before taking himself to the far corner of the room.

The older hunter rolled over to the bed. “Howya doin’, son?”

“Feeling pretty silly actually letting a church lady get the one-up on me.”

“F’ing fanatics.”

“You got that right.”

“I was at the books till Castiel showed up.”

“’S okay Bobby. I know how hard you and Sam tried. Tamara was here, too. Given … well, she didn’t need to come.”

Sam thought he’d explode from the passive acceptance. “Bobby. You know that Michael can heal Dean if Dean just says yes.”

“Yeah Sam. I figured that.”

“Well?!”

“Well what?”

“Tell him to say the fuck yes.”

Bobby maneuvered his chair closer to Sam. “Sam. If Dean says yes then Dean is gone. All that’s left is Michael.”

“That’s not true. Cas and Jimmy were sharing. And even if it is … it’s still better than …” The studded lashes whipped him again, tearing his flesh. He shut his eyes. This was unbearable. Before, he’d only imagined. Now he _knew_.

“Dean,” Bobby addressed his brother. “You thought about this good? Maybe Sam’s right. It’s a way to save you, boy. Nobody would think less of you for it.”

Sam took in Bobby’s shaky jaw. Maybe he wasn’t the only one that thought saying yes was a good idea.

There were a few minutes of silence. “I thought about it. It’s not what I want Bobby. I’m sorry, Sam. I know it’s not what you want to hear. But I have to stay me. It’s all I’ve got.”

Castiel was suddenly by Dean’s side. He touched his face gently. Sadness colored his features in soft shadow. They were running out of time. Sam felt the world tilt and it was all he could do to keep from falling off.

“Bobby,” Dean said, his voice impossibly soft.

“Yeah Dean?”

“That bitch. I know what she did. Sam tried not to say but I know hoodoo like that means she broke every line there is. Can’t let her …”

“We won’t Dean. I sent some friends word and they’re doin’ a little private detecting. Tracking down kidnappings and what not. As soon as we got something to share, we’ll let the authorities know. Jury won’t look kindly on devil worshiping rituals like hers. She’ll get hers.”

Sam watched Dean’s face relax a bit. “Sam please, let … Layla live.”

Sitting on the bed because his legs stopped working Sam let Dean’s words penetrate the dark hole forming at the center of his heart. To even imagine such a thought, when the woman’s mother had stolen … had essentially damned him ... He studied his brother’s pale face with awe. There was one angel in this room. And it wasn’t Castiel.

“Sammy …” Dean said again.

“Yes. Dean. We won’t touch her.”

His brother nodded. He couldn’t really lift his head any longer so he turned slightly to face Sam. He sensed Dean’s frustration at his weakened state.

“Say no, Sam. Say it again and again and again and as many times as you have to until that bastard understands. For me. Tell him it’s for your brother. Tell him he loses.”

_Say no and Dean dies._

He forced his eyes shut at the images of Hell that Lucifer had charred like a brand on his consciousness.

“Okay,” he uttered brokenly. “For my brother.”

He took Dean’s hand and squeezed, letting everything they never said pass between them. “’S good,” Dean whispered.

And then Dean’s last breath slowly wisped away.

Bobby hung his head as Sam called his brother’s name one last time. Castiel put his hand gently on his back but pulled away upon feeling it stiffen. Sam leaned in, laying his cheek against the top of Dean’s still chest and let the tears fall onto his brother’s neck. The pain wracked him like spikes as he swallowed down a harsh sob. He wanted, wished, he could pray. Beg for Dean’s soul. But Sam had gone from a man who believed, to one who questioned, to one who hated.

“Sam.”

He turned abruptly at the new voice to see Zachariah’s beady stare looking down at him.

“What … ?”

The older angel put a finger to Sam’s forehead and the world went white.

**Part 7 – Larry, Darryl and Darryl**

Alone with Zachariah, Sam worked frantically to take in his new surroundings. Another motel room. Familiar, used. What the fuck was this? Couldn’t they let him spend the last few moments with his brother in peace?

“Where are we?”

“Missouri. Right outside Kansas City, matter of fact. Don’t you remember Sam?”

He shook his head and looked around again. He had been here. They had stopped for the night before heading … A sound of a key in the door distracted him. He turned away from Zachariah and gaped like a monkey as Dean -- strong, healthy and very alive -- walked into the room.

Dean held a grocery bag which dropped to the ground after Sam tackled him in a bear hug. He knew instantly that Dean had no idea what was going on. Could tell from the stiffness and the “what the fuck?” expression on his face. Didn’t matter. Nothing was going to make him let go. Dean huffed out a weak, “Sammy?” But Sam ignored him.

Warm and breathing and just Dean, nothing felt as good in a very long time. He felt the tears fall and let them, just fucking let them. That’s when Dean squeezed back. Manly, as was his way, one good hard scrunch. And it was enough.

As they pulled apart he saw Dean’s eyes glint warily at someone behind him. “Douche alert,” he whispered to Sam.

“What did you do to Sam?”

Zach laughed. “Nothing. Sam’s fine. Better than fine, I’d say. Sam passed. And learned a valuable lesson.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the pulse at his throat went into overtime. It was a test? This wasn’t god maybe finally doing one right thing? It had all been faked? The anger rose so quick, so fast, he thought he’d combust.

He grabbed Zach’s jacket and shoved him hard into a wall. “It wasn’t real, you son of a bitch!”

“Did you want it to be?”

Sam flinched, his arms relaxing slightly.

“Let go of me,” the angel menaced.

Dean looked from one to the other. “Someone please tell me what the fuck is going on? What test? You put some angel mojo on Sam like you did me? Where’d you send him? Or should I say when?”

Sam stared at Zachariah. “Why?”

“Samuel. Named after your grandfather, did you know? Stubborn man. Lot like yourself. Didn’t like giving up. We needed to know that you could say no to Lucifer no matter what. So we let the only thing you value stand between you and saying no.”

Dean looked at him sharply, fear widening his eyes.

“It wasn’t real? Nebraska, the hoodoo, none of it?”

“Oh, it was very real. Right now in Nebraska a woman has quite the trap laid out for you and Dean. Would work, too. Just like you saw. Layla Rourke would live and Dean would … well, you know, you were there. But no worries, just keep out of that cemetery in Nebraska for the next couple of weeks and we will … deal with her.”

Sam sensed Dean’s reaction to Layla’s name. There would be time for all that later. He was still trying to process the degree of this incredible deception. “You manipulated our lives, my emotions, my dreams. You sick bastard. For what? To see me fucking break?”

“Sam you continue to willfully misunderstand. It all was as real as could be. What happened happened. We only set the stage. The events, your actions, your dreams, they were your own. Oh, and Dean, you would have been proud. Your little brother did the right thing. If he hadn’t … well, this conversation would be taking a different bent right about now.”

 _Fuck you, Lucifer won’t let you kill me_ , Sam thought before stopping himself. His breath was coming fast and hard now.

Dean touched the fabric of his sleeve. “You all right?”

Sam nodded, afraid to speak.

“You set him up to accept Lucifer by what – threatening me? He says yes, and you get your warped justification to kill him?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually Dean, even if you are the dimmer brother.”

“Get. Out.”

There were moments when Dean could make things happen with pure force of will. This was one of them. The angel gave them one last look of disgust and vanished.

Alone suddenly the brothers found themselves awkward and speechless. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. Dean sat next to him but he brushed him away. The time for comfort was over. He just felt numb.

“They’re dicks, Sam. You know that. Even so, sounds like you … did good.”

He looked up at this, anger darkening his eyes. He was at war inside. A raging battle of good and evil, right and wrong, and he didn’t know … didn’t know what the words meant any more. He tried to slow his thoughts, make them stop pulling him in endless directions at once.

“Sammy?” Dean questioned.

_Yes. Say my name just like that. Talk to me about superheroes and read me a story and cook me Spaghettios and lie … lie and say the monsters aren’t real. I want the lie again. Please._

“I’m okay,” he said finally. “Just … messes with your head.” He let himself breathe and feel his brother’s warm presence next to him for a few moments. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to win this alone.”

A world of understanding flashed in Dean’s eyes as he studied Sam. “Not my plan. Like I said, we keep each other human.”

 _Human_. Sam latched onto that. Yes. No demons. No angels. Certainly, no god. Just them and others like them. He met his brother’s gaze and tried to find strength, give strength.

It was all he had left to believe.

****  
_fin_   



End file.
